Apocalypse Dreams
by JupiterSunrise
Summary: Starts with episode 8.22, I promise things will pick up after the first chapter; it's basically a prologue. Destiel,, possibly Crowlthazar and/or Sabriel. Rated M for language and possibly future sexual content. Nothing too heavy, maybe some angst because angst is sexy.


A/N: This story is an AU of how the season finale went. Everything else is still the same. Starts in 8.22. Gabriel and Balthazar will make an appearance, either in the next chapter or the third. Not sure how to go with Destiel. I might keep it PG, maybe full on slash porn. I've never written slash, but I have a few lemons. So please tell me your opinions, all reviews are appreciated, I don't mind constructive criticism. Sabriel and/or Crowlthazar may be coming.

Castiel pulled the knife out of the nephilim. He didn't feel any different. He didn't feel sicker, like Sam. Castiel only felt regret. Perhaps, had the nephilim not gotten so upset, he could have avoided such conflict. He really hadn't wanted to kill her. Even when he had been advancing on her with his blade, Castiel's goal was only to make sure she stayed.

He didn't expect her to put up a fight. Or a difficult one anyway.

Metatron wheezed, "Good job, Castiel. We'll start the second trial tomorrow."

"No," Castiel said coldly.

"What do you mean, no?" Metatron's voice rose. Castiel couldn't back down now, he'd already committed murder. Not that murder meant anything to most archangels, but Metatron thought Castiel was different.

"No. If I must achieve the quarantine of heaven by killing innocents, it is not something I wish to do."

"Innocents?! She is a nephilim! Against the laws of nature," Metatron's face was turning redder by the second. He couldn't do this without Castiel. Damn bipolar archangels, you could never rely on them.

"She did not do anything wrong. She could not control the condition under which she had been born," Castiel replied. Metatron was heartless. Yes, closing off heaven might be desirable, but to kill for? No.

"But Castiel, just listen to me."

"No," The angel repeated, and left. Of one thing he was sure, killing was not right. The last time that he'd forgotten that, he'd unleashed the leviathans upon Earth.

"Damn it!" Metatron yelled, not caring which humans heard. "Damn it all to hell." His plan was ruined. What could he do now? Go back to his pathetic hermit past? No. Heaven had betrayed him, and the angels must atone for their sins.

Castiel returned to the lair, as Dean called it. He was still unsure of his decision. Castiel didn't want to tell Dean about it, especially with Dean's new animosity for him, but he needed guidance. So he went to Sam, who happened to be sitting at the kitchen table, studying leather-bound volumes.

"Sam," The angel said slowly, "I made a mistake."

Sam looked up from his reading, "It's ok, Cas. Really, we understand. You've apologized and we forgive you. Dean's just being a jerk."

"No, I mean, today. I killed someone."

"What?" Sam looked bewildered, "Was it a demon?"

"It was a nephilim. A child of an angel and a human," Castiel replied solemnly.

"Oh."

"They are forbidden, but that does not excuse me. I am very sorry."

"Well... do you wanna talk about it?"

Castiel cleared his throat, "Yes. I was with Metatron, and-"

"Wait-," Sam interrupted, "You know Metatron?"

"Yes, we have become familiar"- he paused -"over the past three days. I have been helping him seal the gates to heaven, trapping the angels inside."

"You want to trap the angels in heaven?" Sam asked incredulously, "Cas, you do realize you'd be closing the door behind you?"

"Yes, but I decided against it. Killing the nephilim was the first trial."

"What about Metatron?"

"He seemed upset," Castiel sighed. Metatron had been nothing but kind to him, and Castiel felt guilty for letting him down. But his own morals would not let him continue.

"Any luck with determining the third trial?" Castiel asked Sam, deciding it's time to change the subject.

"Kevin's still asleep."

"I must go... research," Castiel said, wanting to leave before their conversation turned awkward.

Castiel appeared in Dean's room with a flourish of wings, but the sound of wings was drowned out by Black Sabbath.

"Dean." Castiel tapped his shoulder when he didn't respond.

"Dammit Cas!" The hunter jumped a mile at the sudden touch. "What do you want?"

"To talk," Castiel said plainly.

"I'm all ears," Dean said, turning down the music and sitting back. This better be good, he wasn't interrupting War Pigs for any bullshit.

Castiel told Dean exactly what he'd told Sam.

"Damn it, I knew Metatron was a shady little fucker. I mean, what kind of name is Metatron, anyway? He sounds like a transformer. And not even one of the cool submarine ones."

Castiel let Dean rant a while until he was calm agaTin.

"Let me get something straight, Cas. You killed someone, just because Metatron asked you to?" Dean looked furious and Castiel nodded.

"Jesus, Cas. Passive aggressive much?"

"I do not understand that reference."

"It's not a reference," Dean said with a sigh. "It just means you don't... you can't think for yourself. You just fuck shit up. Ok?" He didn't mean to swear so much but he couldn't express it in any other way. It might have been a bit harsh.

Cas cocked his head, "Dean, I apologize. I don't mean to... fuck shit up."

The hunter couldn't help but grin at how ridiculous the words sounded, coming from the angel. But his smile faded quickly, "I know you don't _mean_ to, Cas. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Castiel sat by Dean's bedside for a few more seconds, but Dean gave him an annoyed stare and he left. Trying to explain emotions to an angel was draining as hell. _Might as well have a drink_, Dean thought. _God knows I deserve it._

Dean was awakened by a phone call in the late afternoon, the next day. He'd spent most of the night with a bottle of whiskey. Or two. Dean squinted at the phone; the number read 666. _What the fuck_.

"Hi," Dean answered in a croaky morning voice.

"Ah yes, Dean, you are aware I want the angel tablet?" Crowley's voice leaked from the phone. Dean didn't bother responding, and was about to hang up when he heard Crowley's next words.

"And you know your friend Jodie. Now that that's been settled, give me the tablet or she dies. Nice and simple, even you can get that. Meet me at poor dear deceased Bobby's place in three hours."

Dean and Sam's attempt to trick Crowley had gone unsuccessfully, to say the least. They'd lost the demon tablet and the King of Hell was only angrier than ever. But Jodie was safe, at the very least.

Metatron arrived in Heaven, Naomi's office to be exact, the next day. He'd thought it over and concluded that the smartest move, at this point, would be to trade information. He had forgotten, however, Naomi's fondness of picking through heads, which is how he found himself strapped to her surgical chair.

Naomi had gone for a bit, perhaps a coffee break. Torture must have been wearing on the torturer as well, who knew? Metatron still had enough sense to free himself from his binds.

And when Naomi reappeared, Metatron stabbed her through the back of the scull with her own drill. Karma was a bigger bitch than Naomi. Metatron slit her throat and removed her grace. The spell said cupid's bow before angel's grace, but it didn't say anything about order being important. If so, too late now.

It took Metatron a little over an hour to find a cupid that was actually in heaven. Most of them stayed down on Earth and only descended when they had a break: every few centuries.

But one was found, and Metatron managed to con the simpering little shit into giving him the cupid's bow. Metatron had told him he needed to borrow it, because one cupid's bow was having a reverse effect. Simple yet effective.

This whole ordeal took just under half a day. He didn't think he'd have been this productive even if Castiel hadn't grown morals.

Metatron took out the cupid's bow and put it into his flask with the nephilim's soul and angel's grace.

A blinding light shone white hot from the flask, overexposing everything around Metatron. All of heaven was covered in the light, it seeped through walls and floors and memories. Every angel was being drawn toward the flask. The walls of Naomi's office had disappeared completely, melted away by the illumination.

Thousands of angels crowded around the epicenter of the light. The spell had cleared an enormous circular space with Metatron standing in the center and the angels crowded around.

Something had gone wrong. The angels should be being expelled down, the pearly gates shutting. But instead, angels were being cast down among them. Thousands descended among them, doubling the angels' numbers. The other angels greeted them happily.

"Raphael!" Several of the angels gasped happily.

_What the hell was going on?_ Thought Metatron. This was definitely not part of the spell. Maybe the order had been relevant.

It looked as though all the dead angels had come back. They were all commemorating, but suddenly Raphael stopped.

"You!" said Raphael in Enochian. "I feel shattered pieces of Naomi's grace within the spell. Did you kill her?"

"No, of course not." Although his blow to her skull surely would've done the job.

"I know you did," Raphael watched Metatron shake his head furiously. "She deserved it."

"Yes," Metatron replied, as Raphael grinned and joined the celebrations. Metatron was now welcomed and honored among the angels.


End file.
